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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28610382">La Altra Donna</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeBlancSpectre/pseuds/Blanc'>Blanc (LeBlancSpectre)</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeBlancSpectre/pseuds/LeBlancSpectre'>LeBlancSpectre</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera &amp; Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>19th Century, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, F/M, Leroux/Lloyd Webber, Romance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 08:55:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,063</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28610382</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeBlancSpectre/pseuds/Blanc, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeBlancSpectre/pseuds/LeBlancSpectre</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Besides Mlle. Daae and La Carlotta, another woman also contested the role of the prima donna. The overlooked part of the story in the eyes of an overlooked woman. Leroux and ALW based, but some altered. My first ever fic. E/OC</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Erik | Phantom of the Opera/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. An Interrupted Vacation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Oh, yes! Yes, yes, right there!"</p><p>Loud sighs of pleasure were heard inside the chamber of the woman of the house. Young maids flocked the entrance of the room as they try to eavesdrop on whatever is happening behind the closed doors, whispering to each other all the while. Their madame had apparently been known to bring unknown men into her chambers even in broad daylight, and so they wondered with much passion.</p><p>The cries grew louder and louder until one of the younger red-faced maids softly knocked on the large wooden door: "Is e…e-verything in order, madame?"</p><p>"Oh, yes! Of course. You can be off to do your work," said a female voice.</p><p>How curious these maids are, in their minds, something inappropriate must definitely be happening. Surely those risqué-sounding sighs can only mean one thing! Surely this is a confirmation of the information they have been fed by the chattering bunch that was the neighbor's maids, who made it their morning routine to talk about others and their otherwise, private "adventures." Inside the mistress's quarters, however, is a completely different story.</p><p>"Why must your maids flock the doorway, ma'am?" the handsome light-haired masseur asked as he slid his oiled hands on the woman's feet. "I've been hearing their whispers ever since I stepped foot in your house, and I must say, they have quite the imagination."</p><p>"Don't mind. They are new. Young and impressionable. Their minds seem to go everywhere regarding men…Oh!" A loud bang rang outside the door. "See, there's the <em>majordome</em>. They will be gone."</p><p>Another series of knocks came through, but this time they were loud and confident. "Go softer now," she said to the masseur. "Come in, Monet!"</p><p>M. Monet entered the room with a red velvet box:</p><p>"Madame, a gift from one of your pursuers, Dr. Martin. I have followed your instructions and refused his entry. I have as well, a mail – from the managers of Palais Garnier."</p><p>"Ah, he again," shrugged the lady, "how many times must I say no? Even when I'm hours away from Paris, he still finds a way to annoy me. <em>N'importe, </em>leave it on my table. I'll return it personally when I come back."</p><p>She reached her hand to the <em>majordome</em>, onto which he passed the envelope.</p><p>
  <em>MADAME</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Mme. Carlotta has temporarily left the production 'til an unforeseeable date. Her understudy is incredibly unprepared. We ask for the halt of your vacation to assume the role of Elissa in Hannibal for your experience on a production of the same opera in your previous company.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>With your acceptance, is a double of your salary for this and the next month.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>MM. FIRMIN AND ANDRÉ</em>
</p><p>Is it worth it? She asked herself. After all, there could only be one reason for Carlotta's abrupt departure in the middle of rehearsals. She too had been a victim of the <em>antics, </em>as she called it, few times, though not as many, and definitely not as severe as the petulant diva, but nonetheless have made her walk out. Would she become a frequent victim as well? Unlike Carlotta, her patience cannot last for years.</p><p>The lady stroked her jaw. She did not know what to say. But then again, a double salary for two months along with the added publicity of being the prima donna, or at least the replacement, is no doubt a very good deal.</p><p>"Why does the letter say Firmin and André, and not Lefevre?"</p><p>"It appears to be that M. Lefevre is leaving for Frankfurt indefinitely, and had passed down the managerial role to the senders of the letter," Monet replied. "He had given no reason for his departure."</p><p>Dealing with the resident prankster must have taken a toll on him. Poor man, she thought. She set the letter on her lap and gazed at the window, and with a big sigh, she responded:</p><p>"Tell them, I'll be there in 2 days."</p><p>She asked the masseur to stop and leave. She paid him finely for his work. On the night of the same day, her lady's maid was called upon to pack her belongings, while Monet was asked to book a train ride back to Paris.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>2 days later</strong>
</p><p>The lady arrived in Paris the day before, but just as she promised she will arrive two days after and so sought to rest for one more day before going back to the opera house.</p><p>The day after, she arrived just before lunch hours. As usual, workers were in an obvious rush as they sprinted past her in the hallways of the house without even a greeting. From a distance, she heard the music of what can only be the main soprano's aria. She stopped by the auditorium to observe only to be caught in surprise by a young lady with an attractive blonde hair singing in the middle of the stage.</p><p>"Is it her," she asked herself, "the unprepared understudy?"</p><p>The lady's eyes remained fixated on the blonde soprano. And just as she arrived at the climax of the song, the blonde's eyes traveled to meet the lady's, and in an instant, her voice faltered.</p><p>The music abruptly stopped as the conductor also spotted the lady:</p><p>"Ma'am Faivre!" M. Reyer cried and ran to her. "As you see, there has been a sudden change!"</p><p>"Sudden change?" her brows furrowed.</p>
<hr/><p>Mme. Faivre banged on one of the two tables in the manager's office:</p><p>"What is the meaning of this!? You have cut my first vacation after 2 years of continuous performing in operas and concertos…for- for this? Make me travel half a country to tell me that you've replaced me when you've asked <em>me</em> to be <em>the </em>replacement! An insult, this is an insult!"</p><p>The two men in front of her, MM. Firmin and André could only look down. This is the first time they've met Mme. Faivre outside the comfortable velvet chairs of the auditorium, and to be greeted with her temper, what else could they do? They knew, of course, why she was upset, but it is no fault of theirs. Slowly, the man named André stood and opened a wooden drawer, in it was a cream-colored envelope, with an unattached seal in a deep shade of red. Without any words, he passed the envelope to the unaware soprano.</p><p>"What's this?" She eyed the man.</p><p>"Please, madame, read it."</p><p>
  <em>My Dear Managers,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I am sorry to bother you at such a time of urgency, you must be very busy. Regardless, I offer you the warmest greetings in <strong>my</strong> opera house. I do hope M. Lefevre, who has always been charming to me, had not neglected to mention my little fads to you.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Much like with M. Lefevre, I ask that you follow my instructions, that is if you care for peace. I trust that he had given you the final copy of the memorandum-book, yes? I pray, messieurs, in good faith, that you follow everything that is written.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>As for Hannibal, cast Mlle. Christine Daae as Elissa. She will be exquisite. Much more so than your prima donna and Altra prima donna, whose previous rendition of the character proved to be a failure. Your plan to cast her in the stead of Carlotta and her incompetent understudy will not be successful, that I shall be sure of. I shall view any disobedience as an act of contempt, and trust me messieurs, I'm not known for patience.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Your Most Humble and Obedient Servant,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>O.G.</em>
</p><p>"O.G.," she muttered,</p><p>"<em><strong>Opera Ghost?"</strong></em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. It Is Not the Ghost</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"<em><strong>Opera Ghost?" </strong></em></p><p>Faivre blinked a number of times consecutively at the sheer disbelief after reading the letter. She had heard those two very same words together from the <em>corps de ballet</em> plenty of times during rehearsal breaks, but who actually believed the words of young and impressionable girls? Surely this was, as well, a product of someone taking advantage of the silly rumors.</p><p>"Why must a trickster go such a long way to get a specific girl casted? I can only wish to have such an insistent patron," she scoffed.</p><p>"Madame, please. We are being extorted 20,000 francs!" M. André cried.</p><p>She ripped the letter in front of the dumbfounded managers and asked with a sarcastic tone: "And who told you that, a concierge?"</p><p>"Y-y…yes," M. Firmin answered.</p><p>Her eyebrows furrowed further, "and have you ever thought that these are just threats, and nothing more? If I were you, I'd have that concierge investigated. Extortion and causing chaos in the house using threats, a very strong case if I may say so myself."</p><p>During the time of M. Lefevre, there were only pranks. Missing headpieces, costumes, props, and the like. There was no extortion… So why now? Does the "ghost" hate her and Carlotta so? And even then, it was never confirmed that only one "ghost" was responsible for all the antics that ever occurred. Carlotta, for one, while having Paris beneath the soles of her feet, have people who strongly loathe her personality.</p><p>"Unless, of course, M. Lefevre kept everything to himself," she thought.</p><p>Faivre stepped closer and grabbed a copy of the libretto from one of the managers' tables: "I will perform as Elissa," she declared, "I'll start rehearsing tomorrow."</p><p>In her mind, the situation only got more interesting. She had always been fond of a challenge, and this was certainly one. Not only did the "opera ghost" call her previous performance as Elissa, a failure, but the managers were also threatened to cast an unknown girl, whom the ghost has claimed to be better than her.</p><p>She smirked.</p>
<hr/><p>Faivre left the manager's office. Just outside the door was a woman who stood nervously. The two women stared at each other. She felt as though she had seen the face before, but could not fully recall.</p><p>"Madame, I admire your courage, but I warn you. You mustn't do this!"</p><p>"Ah, you must be the fabled concierge who had informed the new managers of the 'opera ghost'," Faivre smiled at the older woman.</p><p>"Indeed, madame. I am in charge of the boxes in Rue de Provence, and the box in which the opera ghost performs his dealings and ask to keep private."</p><p>The soprano laughed. Sure, that specific box was made to be kept private for some years now, but as the ghost's box? "Unbelievable," she thought. Another coincidence used to further make their claim believable to the naïve.</p><p>"Madame, what's your name?"</p><p>"Mme. Giry. You know me well enough, madame; I am the mother of little Giry, Meg Giry."</p><p>This was said in a solemn tone that, for a moment, Faivre was impressed. She looked at the box-keeper keenly. Mme. Giry was dressed in all but clothing that would express success in career. For another moment, Faivre pitied the woman for how bad her financial situation must be to even cogitate extortion.</p><p>Without hesitation, Faivre ordered: "Mme. Giry. Do tell, how much do you need and I'll write a cheque to you this instant,"</p><p>An awe-struck Mme. Giry simply could mutter, "Madame?"</p><p>Faivre reached for the cheque book and pen inside her handbag. "Madame, I know you're behind this. I'll give you what you want for you to stop this lunacy. Now, tell me your full name and the amount you desire,"</p><p>"Mme. Faivre, I may not be well-off as you are," Mme. Giry argued, "but I can never do what you're trying to suggest!"</p><p>Faivre cleared her throat. "A shame. Well, I believe we have reached an impasse. I will be here again for the rehearsal tomorrow. Good day, Mme. Giry."</p><p>And with that she walked a few steps past the concierge until: "Be careful, Mme. Faivre. To meddle with the opera ghost is to jump to hell itself."</p><p>"Don't worry, madame. I like the warmth..." she replied,</p><p>"especially in a nice cold day such as this one."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Triumphant Woman</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The lonely die young.</p>
<p>From ants to humans, all seem to be affected by the phenomenon called loneliness.</p>
<p>Thus, it does make one wonder how someone could survive twenty…no, thirty. No, forty. More than forty years of being mostly, if not completely, alone. No group of friends to do sports and chatter with; No father or mother to ask for new dresses or vacations away from the bustling city; No actual coworkers, or whatever the word "actual" means;</p>
<p>And, no romance.</p>
<p>Can such person actually exist? They must be living in complete darkness. A prisoner perhaps – no…they have other prisoners to talk to. Strange.</p>
<p>But alas, such people do exist. We don't hear about them because they choose not to be known. Sometimes though, some of them takes pride on being known, outlandish their reason for prominence may be.</p>
<p>Such is the case for <em>Le Fantôme de l'Opéra</em>, an entity rumored to haunt the Palais Garnier and all of its workers.</p>
<p>As his alias suggests, <em>he</em> is a ghost, or at least, people <em>believe</em> he's a ghost. You see, people are still much too superstitious, and those who are not, are possibly no better. They believe that his actions are no more than pranks from those who have no other outlet for their frustrations. He laughs at both.</p>
<p>The Phantom dwells below the surface, within the lower cellars of the opera house, and <em>darkness, it sure is.</em></p>
<p>In his time living under the heart of theater arts in France, he had found many activities to keep himself, in lack of a better word, <em>functioning.</em> He had toured every known and unknown corners of the house, made smaller buildings within, and possibly his favorite activity, participated in the creative decision-making in operas and the like – albeit from the shadows.</p>
<p>Recently though, he had taken someone as a student, a first even for himself. That student was Christine Daae, a soprano in the chorus. The daughter of a renowned Swedish violinist, Gustave Daae.</p>
<p>He had listened to M. Daae before, and was quite delighted to hear that his daughter, who performed with him occasionally, was to join the opera house after the man died.</p>
<p>There was a lot of hope for the future of the opera house! That is, until he heard the girl sing.</p>
<p>It was quite a shame. He questioned if she learned anything at all from her time at the conservatoire. But his hope did not falter, and the longer he listened, the more her potential manifested in his ears, "rusty" her voice may be that time. And so, he had the strangest idea, or a stroke of genius, as he preferred to call it.</p>
<p>He will tutor Christine Daae.</p>
<p>He followed her for days, trying to gain as much information that he might be able to use for the absolute certainty of her acceptance.</p>
<p>And there it was! He had eavesdropped on her conversation with a certain Mamma Valerius that shelters the young soprano.</p>
<p>
  <em>"</em>
  <em>Angel of music."</em>
</p>
<p>The poor girl believes in a promise her father made to her as a child, that when he ascends to heaven, he will send the <em>angel of music </em>to guide her.</p>
<p>The very next week of his discovery, he taught her from the walls of her dressing room as her <em>angel of music</em>.</p>
<p>For three months, the girl would appear in the opera house hours before anyone else to receive his tutelage. And in those three months, he was overjoyed by the warm company.</p>
<p>And there was no doubt.</p>
<p>There was no way he could be wrong.</p>
<p>
  <em>It was love.</em>
</p><hr/>
<p>"Angel?"</p>
<p>"Yes, Christine?" he answered with the softest voice.</p>
<p>"I'm sorry I could not keep the role."</p>
<p>He sighed. He too had not expected <em>her </em>to be insistent. For her whole time in the opera house, she had been quite passive, accepting whatever is handed to her. Perhaps the grandeur of the opportunity has freed her from former restrictions.</p>
<p>"It is no fault of yours, Christine."</p>
<p>"But –"</p>
<p>"I shall hear no more. Rest, child. We have much to do," and so he left.</p>
<p>For once, the Phantom of the Opera was bothered. Hannibal was supposed to be Christine's debut. But <em>she </em>had to come back before the main event of his plan even took place!</p>
<p>He had tried the common tricks on Faivre; soaked her copy of the libretto, placed bugs on her belongings, and many more that would normally work on people much like her. Just yesterday he had ripped the costumes made for her. And yet, the damned woman seemed to be more and more eager to perform, an idea he could not fully comprehend. Was it the money? But she's rich! Was it the attention? She's the altra prima donna in a renowned opera company in Paris!</p>
<p>In a way, he admired her will. But there is another feeling he could not fully describe.</p><hr/>
<p>During the rehearsals, he watched from the usual box five, whose placement in the auditorium made him seem nothing but a part of the shadows. From there, he took note of all that is lacking in the performance. From the laziness of the actors, the single wrong note played by a member of the orchestra, and to the questionably positioned props. He is quite observant for these things, certainly more than an average customer, or even a patron.</p>
<p>When the scene in which the main characters are to be introduced started, he straightened up. He quickly recognized the new object of his anger, Faivre, who came into the scene with a triumphant expression on her face. She wore a red gown adorned with gold and shimmering pieces of emeralds, a different costume from what the tailors had initially designed for her, and definitely not the same one he had destroyed with his own hands. For once, he did not know where this object had come from or how it was made in the opera house without his knowledge, until…</p>
<p><em>"</em><em>Clever girl,"</em> he chuckled at the realization.</p>
<p>And in an instant he finally understood what he felt before.</p>
<p>
  <em>"</em>
  <em>Yes…quite the perfect description."</em>
</p>
<p>It's the same feeling that is evoked when one sees a lost kitten trapped within the cellars, circling around with great hope to be back to the light.</p>
<p>
  <em>Pity.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Other Prima Donna</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div>
  <p>The cheers were deafening.</p>
  <p>Five more minutes on the stage and one's ears would surely bleed. Yet, at the same time, it felt like heaven. The blinding spotlight being the path to eternal happiness.</p>
  <p>When people ask Faivre why she loves performing her answer would not be different from that. Performing, in a way, is much like a drug. She and Carlotta both understand that perfectly, there's a reason why they have not retired.</p>
  <p>But only one of the two sopranos understand the dark side of that drug.</p>
  <hr/>
  <p>Valérie Faivre in her younger years, was a proud soprano in her former opera company, L'Opera Petit Blanc. Just out of the Conservatoire de Paris boasting a 2nd prize in singing, she knew she can sing well, and would absolutely deliver. It also helped that she was considered to be well-built and beautiful. She earned many loyal patrons which boosted her position, in not just the company, but also in society.</p>
  <p>She became as sought-out to perform as their prima donna, whose signs of aging became both visible and audible. And in just a short amount of time, she took the position. Many were not happy for the young soprano. And in her debut, in the house's production of Hannibal, many wished for her to fail.</p>
  <p>And fail, she did.</p>
  <p>There was admittedly a huge avalanche of expectation for her. So much so that even the Paris Opera was outshone that day. Valérie did not actually fail, technically speaking, but she simply could not deliver what was expected of her. She performed well, just not well enough.</p>
  <p>Immediately after the opening night, sales decreased tenfold. It was no longer about the young soprano's debut but just about the show itself. And to add nail to the coffin, news outlets reported on her disappointment of a debut, making her the laughing stock of the industry for the whole time of the production.</p>
  <p>After her contract ended with the company, Valérie went into silence for three years. Before her decision to disappear in the public eye, she was riddled with many controversies. She still loved singing, and still had a teacher to keep her voice intact, but no longer did she seek to perform on a stage.</p>
  <p>Behind the scenes, she was also getting offered marriage left and right. And for a peaceful five years she was known as Valérie Faivre Dubois, wife to Henry Dubois, an architect. M. Dubois died after an accident at a construction site. He left all of his fortune to his wife. For a while, she was convinced that this was god's punishment for her disbelief and tried to become a believer once more. She attended church for an all-time record of 3 masses, something she was proud of.</p>
  <p>It was definitely a shock for everyone, when they saw Valérie auditioning in the Paris Opera. Despite her eight years of absence in the industry, Valérie was still a talented woman.</p>
  <p>And she became the house's altra prima donna.</p>
  <hr/>
  <p>"Madame, the tailor said the costume will be done within the day. While the other two pieces will be tomorrow. He had been collaborating with other shops in order to finish everything as soon as they can."</p>
  <p>"Is that so? Tell them I need it to be delivered by morning tomorrow. I'll pay extra, of course." Valerie closed the newspaper she was reading, and Monet quickly noticed what it was.</p>
  <p>"Madame, that is –"</p>
  <p>"I'm just having a bit of a read," Valérie interjected, "it was the same opera, so I want to know what it was I was lacking that time."</p>
  <p>She smiled at the concerned majordome: "Thank you, Monet. I fancy another honey lemon tea tonight as well, make it after dinner, will you? I've always preferred your brew."</p>
  <p>"As you wish, madame," Monet bowed.</p>
  <p>Valérie stood up from her desk and went to open the wooden doors of her bedroom's balcony. She stepped closer to the metal railing and gazed at the sky. The cold wind of the night made her embrace herself as she released a sigh.</p>
  <p>The night was peaceful. Maybe too peaceful.</p>
  <p>But it was not unwelcomed, in fact she wished for more of it.</p>
  <p>She sighed once more.</p>
  <p>"Am I doing the right thing, Henry?"</p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Brava! Brava! Bravissima!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Bravi! Bravi!" shouted the audience.</p>
<p>To say that the performance was a success would be an understatement, but no other word could be used to describe the moment the cast witnessed. Valérie, for one, could not even make out the faces. Even when the lights had dimmed, everything was still a blur. Were they happy? Were they moved? Were they satisfied? Were they just thankful it was over? Her stomach felt awful, and skin crawled. She was scared, and rightfully so.</p>
<p>In the hallway of the house, she was greeted by the managers, MM. Firmin and André, who were both holding large bouquets of flowers. They were smiling greatly, which she knew was a positive sign, but the anxious thoughts in her head was still stubborn to leave.</p>
<p>"Madame, you did splendidly!" M. André exclaimed, "your voice was seraphic in the last aria!"</p>
<p>"Is…that so?"</p>
<p>Confusion sat in Valérie's mind. She knew what was just said was something to be happy about, but she could not bring herself to lift the muscles of her only stared at the two, slightly open-mouthed. M. Firmin's eyebrows furrowed at the lack of enthusiasm:</p>
<p>"Is everything fine, madame?"</p>
<p>"Y...yes…I," she slurred, "I'd like to return to my dressing room…I'll join you at the after-party."</p>
<hr/>
<p>There was still some time left before the after-party and Valérie wanted to stay in her dressing room to clear her mind first.</p>
<p>It was still a shock.</p>
<p>During the curtain call, she had tried her best to maintain a cheerful expression, but inside she wanted to vomit. She thought everyone must have sensed it with the looks the cast gave her. Even now, still she had no idea how to react. But being back in her dressing room, she felt relieved. Valérie, now in her red velvet dressing gown, stared at her eyes in the mirror as she removed the cosmetics on her face.</p>
<p>"Madame, your performance was amazing!" The dresser said as she helped Valérie remove the pins in her hair.</p>
<p>"Oh, you flatter me…"</p>
<p>"You know, I was there during your debut, madame."</p>
<p>In an instant, the soprano stiffened. With a gulp, she waited the next line. In truth, she was still afraid. Afraid that maybe, her performance was another disappointment. She could only wish she could escape the conversation immediately before she hears anything that would make her unable to sleep for days.</p>
<p>"Comparing now to your voice back then…The change is amazing!"</p>
<p>Valérie was caught off-guard by the dresser's comment, "change?"</p>
<p>"Indeed, madame! You were able to encapsulate Elissa's emotion," the dresser grabbed a hairbrush and combed through the soprano's hair. "It was as if you truly went through Elissa's joys and sufferings. I felt the emotions even without seeing your face. And…as embarrassing as it was, I admit to tearing up."</p>
<p>"I…I see," her expression softened.</p>
<p>Total silence passed between the two. Valérie did not know what to reply, and the dresser did not know what to add as she noticed the soprano to be lost in thought.</p>
<p>"I believe I should be leaving you to yourself now, madame. I apologize if I talked too much."</p>
<p>"No! No, it was… much appreciated," she smiled.</p>
<p>"Have a nice night, madame. Call for me when you need help," the dresser bowed and left.</p>
<p>Valérie sighed. It was not often that she talked to the staff of the house aside from giving orders. It was a refreshing occurrence, she admitted. And the words of her dresser resonated in her brain. Little by little, the success of the opening night slowly registered in her mind. She thought of all the years she went through after her debut. From being one of the most famous upcoming singers of the decade to controversies and absolute obscurity.</p>
<p>"Is this really happening?" She laughed.</p>
<p>It has been a while since she laughed as much as she did now. A true honest laugh. And as much as she wanted to do so for hours just to savor the feeling, her moment of joy was eventually cut off as she heard a man's voice:</p>
<p>
  <em>"Brava, brava, bravissima…"</em>
</p>
<p>She noted of the voice's both eerie and heavenly tone. How a voice could manage to do both, she has no idea.</p>
<p>"Is someone there?" she stood and checked outside the door.</p>
<p>No response.</p>
<p>She shrugged. It might have been someone who passed by her room for a moment, she thought.</p>
<p>Valérie brought her eyes back to the contents of the room, which was crowded with flowers, envelopes, and boxes. It reminded her of birthdays when she was a child, and made her smile cheek-to-cheek.</p>
<p>But one thing caught her eye.</p>
<p>There was something on the table that was not there before.</p>
<p>A single ivory rose, whose thorns are still intact. It wrapped with a black ribbon and still had traces of water on its petals, as if freshly-picked. Her brows furrowed as she picked up the rose.</p>
<p>"Ah!" she cried. "Merde."</p>
<p>A small dot of blood started to emerge from her right-hand thumb. Luckily, her white handkerchief also lay on the table, and it was not a deep cut. She soon noticed the cream-colored envelope that was placed with the flower. The letter was sealed with red wax.</p>
<p>"Oh god," she rolled her eyes.</p>
<p>She knew instantly. But like any good recipient, she opened the letter, which ran:</p>
<p>
  <em>Voice, exquisite. Emotions, superb. Frankly, I did not expect such from you, Mme. Faivre. But you have proven yourself worthy. I apologize for insulting you in my previous note to the managers.<br/></em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Sadly, I would prefer if you do not meddle in my business any further. On the next productions of the season, Mlle. Daae shall be playing the lead. For the meantime, she will also be your official understudy for Elissa. I hope you appreciate my favor.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>That is all.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>O.G.</em>
</p>
<p>Valérie laughed once more.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>One movie reference! I really liked the rose part, but apart from that, expect no more. Sorry, movie phans!<br/>Apart from that. It seems this would be my first A/N. What do you think of the story and Valérie/Mme. Faivre so far? Let me know! Thank you!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The Rose Garden</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>EDIT: Few edits, word changes, etc. Nothing big. New A/N below the chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"I do NOT understand these people!" Henrietta, or simply Ettie, was Valérie's long-time friend and self-proclaimed adoptive sister. This blond-haired associate was of course, not much older than the soprano, and had served as more of a friendly antithesis rather than a caring sibling, though who's to say how siblings should act? She had recently heard of her friend's triumph at the Garnier and was more than excited to visit after months of staying indoors due to pregnancy.</p><p>"Settle down, Ettie," Valérie replied, as she glanced at the nearby perambulator. "You'll wake up your child."</p><p>Ettie exhaled audibly, and began to complain less aggressively: "How you're able to stay so calm while your name is being slandered is beyond me."</p><p>The production ended with great acclaim both to the opera house and to the actors. One could blame it on the leads' talents, the youthful ballerinas and their risqué costumes, or everything combined. Regardless, there was still an extremely vocal minority that chooses to bring up the forgotten and put a new spin on it, all to shed a negative light on one certain singer.</p><p>"Look at this," Ettie raised each of the newspaper articles that featured the soprano. "'Prima Donna Caught Intimate with Doctor', 'Haughty Singer After Opening Night Success', 'Second Chance for Failed Singer'."</p><p>"They are surprisingly tame this time," Valérie sipped her tea. And indeed, they were. Back then, week after week, she was included in the headlines with new men for each. And with each article, she also had threatened to take to court, but how would a recently debuted singer pay for all those proceedings? By the time she had married Henry, her reputation was so damaged she no longer felt it necessary to spend what could be thousands of francs just to salvage what little remains of said reputation, even if she had the money to do so.</p><p>"Also, I used to have the notion that you hated Doctor Martin, has that changed?"</p><p>"Hate is an extreme word, mon amie. I find him annoying at most times, assertive as he is. He's attractive BUT I simply returned his gift. And of course, young men as they are, he stole a kiss from my cheek, is all," Valérie sighed. "So, what was it you came here for anyway?"</p><p>"Apart from visiting my long-time friend? Well, I heard a rumor."</p><p>For the time that the blonde must have spent en route from her home in Rouen to Valérie's apartment in Paris, certainly, there must be a better reason than a "rumor," thought the soprano. "Darling, we've gone through this. You have to be more specific than that."</p><p>"Your retirement."</p><p>There was a brief silence in the room.</p><p>"Ah, that. It's still a work in progress, I haven't retired," pointed a nervous Valérie to the ceiling. She was caught off guard. "The streets of Paris have been quite tedious for me. There are still months left for the opera season, and I am thinking I should have a change of scenery after so. But I'm having the hardest time deciding where to stay next."</p><p>Over the years, the soprano has developed a disinterest in her current town. Perhaps it was her inability to catch up to the ever-so-changing trends in fashion, being too old to enjoy social gatherings but too young to stop attending such, the stalking doctor, the extortionist at her workplace who threaten at her every move, it could be any. Regardless, All she knew was that she needed change.</p><p>"For once, I agree. Well, do you have anything in mind?" Ettie asked as she sipped on her now-lukewarm tea.</p><p>"Somewhere close, but not too close, and especially not as far as my vacation house in Bordeaux. Maybe somewhere near Rouen or Reims. I have to ask though, how did you know about it? Please tell me you've stopped dealing with that 'private detective' friend of yours."</p><p>"I'm simply acquainted with the listing agent you consulted. But that's beside the point. Has he mentioned this wonderful property in Les Andelys? It's by the river, beautiful, quiet, and peaceful. I think it suits you. There's even this magnificent rosarium open for the public, sadly though it's hardly ever visited."</p><p>"A rose garden, huh…" Valérie pondered for a moment. Being in Les Andelys means she'd be closer to Henrietta, and her newly born son, which the soprano found adorable. She glanced at the peacefully sleeping newborn and with a smile, she answered:</p><p>"I guess I shall have a look."</p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>7 days later</strong>
</p><p>"This is quite a view isn't it, Monet?"</p><p>"Indeed, madame," answered the butler. "It appears Madame Henrietta did know exactly what you were looking for. The moment you saw the estate, you immediately asked the agent for the papers."</p><p>Valérie simply laughed at the older man's words. As much as she hates to admit it, Henrietta knows her even better than she knows herself. It sometimes had been a problem when she would try to be the same to the blonde, only to be completely mistaken each time. Valérie, though good-willed, had admitted weakness to observation.</p><p>"I'm going to have look around the area. There was this garden she so eagerly wanted me to see."</p><p>"Shall I come with you, madame?"</p><p>"No, I'm quite fine by myself," she replied. "There are still some hours left before nightfall. Just assist the movers for me, will you?"</p><p>Monet nodded: "As you wish, madame."</p><p>Valérie smiled.</p><p>Monet has been much of a father figure for Valérie despite only being with her since her marriage to Henry. He had helped her get used to the customs of the upper class, and more. Valérie had expected him to leave after his true master's death, he was a servant to the Dubois family, and not to the wife after all. It was a shock to her when all but Monet left. And now that the man's age was becoming apparent by each day, Valérie tries with her best to lessen his workload, which included keeping a watchful eye on her.</p><p>It was afternoon, and the sun was now descending. Valérie strolled around her to-be new home village. Much to her surprise, there were even fewer people than she had anticipated. She soon spotted a village man that was not too far from her and asked for directions.</p><p>"Just straight ahead? I see. Thank you, monsieur," she bowed to a villager.</p><p>Five more minutes of walking and finally she saw what looks like the entrance to the garden. From the outside, it did not look of considerable size and looked narrow even, but once she stepped foot at the premises, there she understood that the narrow area was simply part of the entrance. A hallway, but of leaves and flowers. As Valérie approached the center of the rose garden, she heard a faint sound of what could only be violin playing. But what piqued her interest more was the familiarity of the piece.</p><p>"It's from Hannibal," she said to herself. "Why would anyone play a piece from Hannibal? Why not from one of Mozart's? Verdi?" Not that it was her business to dictate what one should or should not play, but Hannibal had always been an unpopular choice.</p><p>From afar, she spotted a dark figure in a gothic white gazebo that was placed in the center of a set of red rose bushes. Valérie neared the source of the sound, It was a man clad in a black cape playing the violin with, at least from her vantage point, an eye closed. From the side, she thought the man to be absolutely dashing, a bit slender, but dashing nonetheless. She noted of his playing which she acknowledged to be in the most graceful manner, from the movement of his hands to how he stood. She lifted her skirt slightly and tiptoed on the garden bricks as quietly as she could, all with respect to the man's focus on the instrument. And as she suspected, the piece was not only from Hannibal, it was also a transitional piece that connects to Elissa's last aria, and there was no doubt that he was going to play said aria soon after.</p><p>A thought passed through the soprano's mind. What if she sang for the masked man in the gazebo? She had been asked to perform this specific song even outside the premises of the opera house too many times now that even the thought of the song made her wince at some point, but something was refreshing about singing at the spur-of-the-moment, and for a stranger she thought to be attractive.</p><p>And sing, she did.</p><p>Elissa's last aria was a song that was always underestimated by singers. On paper, it seemed straightforward, but achieving the right tone is no easy feat that many singers, like La Carlotta and herself, have trouble executing perfectly. Despite the song being created for a lyric soprano, the song demands multiple changes of tone as Elissa goes back and forth between mourning and hopefulness, and then ending in a mixture of the two emotions as she comes to terms with her experiences and whatever the future holds for her. As for Valérie's unpremeditated "performance," she thought it good enough, but with the lack of her usual fifteen long minutes of preparations, it was certainly of much lower quality. She only hoped the mysterious figure would not mind.</p><p>As she reached one of the higher notes in the song, the music stopped abruptly as the man looked in her direction with a furrowed brow. Yes, one furrowed brow. Much to Valérie's dismay, the man had half of his face covered with a slightly off-white porcelain mask that vaguely matched the exposed side's features.</p><p>"How rude," Valérie pouted. "I was enjoying myself."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A/N: I have to clarify that although I used the name(s) of the fictional opera(s) in the ALW version, it doesn't mean that the songs would be the same. For example, the Elissa aria mentioned in this chapter is not necessarily "Think of Me," but the reader has the freedom to imagine it to be Think of Me or a song that fits the description!</p><p>Chapter 7 should be out by the time you read this. Happy reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Man in The Gazebo</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"How rude, I was enjoying myself."</p><p>"Madame,"</p><p>Valérie's mouth gaped when he spoke. How silky his voice was. With ability, grace, and a voice like that, he must have hundreds of women pining for his attention, thought Valérie.</p><p>"My memory must betraying me but I do not recall asking for any accompaniment. Why have you bothered for so?"</p><p>The question snapped her back to reality.</p><p>"Oh, I liked how you play, is all" she smiled. "You play almost like a first violin."</p><p>And as if the soprano struck just the wrong chord, the man answered with a hint of contempt: "Almost? And what is it that madame has picked up from my playing?"</p><p>"Well," Valérie rested her elbows on the gazebo's railings, turning away from the masked man. "Elissa's aria is a melancholic piece, yet you play it with a slight touch of …anger. For an ordinary listener, it sounds splendid. But I'm no ordinary listener, monsieur."</p><p>"Perhaps, I am quite angry," the man replied.</p><p>"Then that is quite unfortunate," she looked at the roses. "Are you from here, monsieur?"</p><p>"You could say that," The man put his violin back to a case with a red velvet interior that compliments the instrument's classical hue. "Farewell, Madame Valérie Faivre."</p><p>"Farewell, monsieur," she replied absentmindedly.</p><p>Oh, how Valérie wanted to listen to that voice for days. She was quite tempted to pay him just to say her name as he did just now.</p><p>"My...name," The soprano's eyes widened. She turned to face the man, "Wait!"</p><p>He's gone. No signs of there ever being a man with her.</p><p>"…What in the world?" were the only words she could mutter.</p><hr/><p>The short scene in the garden had stunned the soprano for the whole night. Her mind mused several thoughts regarding the man. First, why was he wearing half a mask? How did he leave the premises in a blink of an eye? How could she get that voice in a bottle for personal use? Can you bathe in a tub of one's voice?</p><p>Ettie, who visited the estate felt quite ignored by the dazed hostess. "I'll splash hot oil on your face if you keep ignoring me," Ettie exclaimed.</p><p>Immediately, the soprano raised her arms to shield her face:"No! Not the face!"</p><p>Ettie rolled her eyes. "Narcissistic <em>gosse</em>."</p><p>"Such kind words, mon amie," Valérie straightened. "My apologies, I have been rather lost in thought recently."</p><p>"I barely noticed. How are you liking the place?"</p><p>"Pleasing," Valérie played with her hair. "Quite perfect for me. And, having you close is frankly not so unwelcomed as I first thought."</p><p>"As I figured. And your work, you have left Garnier, have you?"</p><p>"Not quite. I'm coming back tomorrow. The managers begged me for at least one more season, I agreed. Gives me more time to transition properly," Ettie said as she curled a small section of her hair with her fingers. "Having said that, I've informed them I won't be playing the lead anymore. I've had my fun with Hannibal."</p><p>A surprised Ettie opened her mouth in an 'o' shape, "How so? I thought you liked being the lead?"</p><p>"Tired," replied Valérie with a blank expression, though in truth, she wanted to complain about a certain "ghost," but resisted. To her, there are much more pressing matters at hand.</p><p>"Say, Ettie," asked Valérie. "Do you know a tall slender man who wears a mask regularly and plays the violin well around the area?"</p><p>"Well, there's Louie who plays the violin well."</p><p>Valérie raised her brows, her curiosity piqued.</p><p>"But she is hardly a man, let alone a tall one. A runaway daughter of a composer," Ettie answered with a visible self-satisfaction. She had always taken pride in her ability to remember such things.</p><p>Valérie only gave a small silent "oh." One hand stroking her chin.</p><p>"What's this talk about a mystery man? Don't tell me you're back on the market again?"</p><p>The brunette waved her free hand furiously: "Oh, shut up, Ettie. I was merely curious."</p><p>"It's quite strange that you mention this man wearing a mask. I don't recall a masquerade ball happening anywhere nearby. And you know me when it comes to gatherings."</p><p>Hands still on her chin, Valérie simply replied, "Indeed... strange."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A/N: After chapter 6 was published I was very troubled with how I wanted Erik to be, so much so that the time gap between chapter 6's first publication and this chapter was extremely long. It was a case of being trapped between choices. I apologize for the wait. But as for the "trouble" itself... At first, he dons an ALW half mask, but last month I made it (but did not publish) that he had the Leroux mask to reflect what I initially had in mind for the fanfic, which was full Leroux style. But fret not, no change was officially made in chapter 6.</p><p>This is my first time writing a fanfiction, or a longer story in general, and I believe you can tell but I'm so happy for everyone's support. Thank you so much for the kind reviews!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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